Prelude
by isthisrubble
Summary: Mummy has been dead a long time by the time John Watson finds out she ever existed. Part One of The Ascension of Winston Holmes.


**This is a prequel to _Elevation_**

* * *

Mummy has been dead a long time by the time John Watson finds out she ever existed. Mycroft knows that Sherlock doesn't like to remember her, and he hopes that it's because he feels even the tiniest bit of guilt. Perhaps.

Mycroft remembers Before.

Mummy taught him and Sherlock piano, before they discovered viola and violin, respectively. As they improved, she accompanied them on the family's grand piano, sometimes singing with a voice that was sweet and soft.

She was a beautiful woman, full of grace and laughter. She loved them all dearly.

Father was a different kettle of fish entirely. He was quite capable of being quiet and calm, but that was what he did at work, and he didn't like bringing the work home with him.

Mummy was a botanist, but it was Father who took his sons out for nature walks, pointing out the homes of small creatures and helping Sherlock track animal prints. He bought Sherlock his first chemistry set and Mycroft his first encyclopaedia. He was the one who played day-long hide and seek games with the two older boys and told them all historical tales as bedtime stories.

Mycroft treasures memories of the good times. He tucks them up in a room in the back of his mind, locks the door, and buries the key. He hardly ever goes in. Those are the sorts of memories that fade away with overuse, so he acts accordingly.

* * *

All Winston knows is After. Mycroft and Sherlock sometimes tell him of a mother who laughed all the time, a father who played with his sons, but all Winston knows is emptiness and silence.

His mother barely spoke. She spent most of her time in the music room, on the window ledge, looking forlornly out into the grounds. Whenever she looked at him, her eyes would fill with tears and she would turn away again. Sherlock said it was because, out of the three of them, he looked the most like Father.

Winston hated looking in the mirror as a child.

Winston was practically raised by the servants. Sherlock and Mycroft were always at school, and there was no one else in the house. While Sherlock barely grew up at all, Winston was like Mycroft - he grew up far too quickly.

He didn't blame Sherlock. Mycroft did, and their relationship had never recovered, but Winston felt differently. Sherlock, as smart as he had always been, had never been good at reading social cues, and he'd been just a child, only seven years old at the time. Children blurted things out all the time. But when the child was as observant as Sherlock... that was when the trouble started.

* * *

It wasn't _he_ who upset Mummy. It _wasn't_. It wasn't Sherlock's fault he _noticed_ things. It was Father's fault for doing wrong in the first place. He'd been noticing things that were off for a while before he actually brought it up.

The way cat hair kept appearing on Father's clothes when he arrived home from abroad, despite the fact that Father was allergic, and consequently there was never a cat in the house.

The way slightly _wrong_ scent hung around him on some days. It was a mixture of lilies, sweat and something Sherlock only managed to identify much later in life.

Or how the little finger of his left hand twitched slightly when he took some of the calls he said were "work, top secret." That twitch was Father's only tell, the only way you could see if he was lying.

Mummy wasn't the most observant woman, so Sherlock forgave her for not noticing some of these things. But there were incidents that were just so _obvious_ that Sherlock didn't understand why Mummy wasn't angry. Like the one at the Sanderson's New Year's party, that Sherlock was sure at least Mycroft had noticed, too. How had Mummy not seem how rumpled Father had looked after he came back from helping Mrs Blake "organise her staff"?

So he decided a direct approach would be best. One night, after Father had left once again for work on the Continent, Sherlock asked, 'Mummy, when you marry someone, you promise to only love them, don't you?'

Mummy raised her eyebrows, but smiled. 'Yes, Sherlock, that's usually what happens. What's made you think of that?'

Sherlock put down his knife and fork. 'Then why - Mycroft! _Don't!_' Mycroft was giving him the look he usually reserved for when he wanted Sherlock to shut up, but Father had always said that if you didn't understand something, you should always ask about it, so Sherlock felt safe in glowering back.

Mummy whipped around. 'Mycroft! What have I told you about kicking under the table?'

Mycroft sat back, his face blank in the way he'd only just perfected. Sherlock had no idea what he was thinking. Later, once he'd worked it out, he wished he'd paid more attention to Mycroft's "Shut up, Sherlock" face.

'Why does Daddy lie to you? Where does he go before he comes home from work? Why does he look at Mrs Blake the way he does?'

Mummy's eyes narrowed slightly, then widened in sudden, horrific realisation, and Sherlock wondered if he'd said something wrong. Mycroft closed his eyes. You could have, quite literally, heard a pin drop.

'Mummy, what...' With perfect timing, Winston gave a loud wail from somewhere downstairs. Mummy's chair screeched awfully against the polished floor as she pushed away from the table and hurried out of the room.

* * *

**Transcript of communication from Personnel department to Family of Agent 276 [Deceased]**

**06-10-1984 15:32:16 - 15:34:27**

**Location: London, England, GB to Northampton, England, GB**

**Subjects: Kiara Westlan (Personnel) and Violet Holmes (Civilian)**

**Recorded for MI6 archives by Simon Burton, Archives**

**Holmes:** Hello, Holmes household, Violet speaking.

**Westland:** Hello, Mrs Holmes, My name is Kiara, I'm calling from MI6.

**Holmes:** Oh. Is it about Sherrinford?

**Westland:** Mrs Holmes, I'm sorry to inform you that your husband was killed while on duty on the mainland on Tuesday.

**[Three seconds of silence]**

**Westland:** Mrs Holmes?

**Holmes:** Yes, sorry, I... I see. He... Will his body be...?

**Westland:** I'm afraid not, Mrs Holmes.

**Holmes:** He's not just missing?

**Westland:** No.

**Holmes:** I suppose you can't tell me anything else, can you?

**Westland:** I'm afraid not. I'm very sorry for your loss.

**Holmes:** I... thank you. Goodbye.

**[Call disconnected]**

* * *

**AN: Let's pretend MI6 keeps records of **_**everything**_**, shall we?**


End file.
